


Rebound With A Robot

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Break Up, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: Dumped, distraught and emotionally destitute, Astoria is having the worst birthday of her life. In comes her new friend Powerglide to try and cheer her up.





	Rebound With A Robot

**Author's Note:**

> My boyfriend dumped me a few weeks ago because he's a selfish and pathetic piece of shit. I haven't really known what to do with myself since then, so… this happened. I was hesitant about posting it since it describes some very personal feelings and there’s a shit ton of projection on Astoria, but I guess there’s no point in just hiding it away. Maybe some hidden away Astoria/Powerglide fans will like it.

Astoria told herself she was done with him. That she didn't need him. That she deserved _better_ than him.

But if all that was true… why couldn't she stop crying? 

It came out of nowhere, exactly like his realisation that he was better off without her did; one second she was immersed in the hollow glamour of the party and fake friends, and then one stray quip reminded her of him and she had to leave in a flurry of fluttering hands and choked sobs before someone important saw her- and now, hours later, she still couldn't stem the flood. She ignored her phone, but she doubted anyone would be calling anyway. Everyone would be too drunk on ancient liqueurs and second-hand fame to even notice she was gone.

It was her own birthday party, and no one even cared that she left. 

He dumped her just a week beforehand. He couldn't even wait that long before getting rid of her. He was just that eager to make her miserable. 

Still wearing her far too expensive gown, Astoria stumbled and shed her ridiculous heels in the dirt that gave way to cold, hard mud under her feet, now they were firmly planted back on Earth. The higher she tried to rise above everyone else, the harder she came crashing down in flames. 

No wonder she didn't have friends, only spectators who gathered to watch the wreckage. 

No wonder he got rid of her while he still could.

Poor Astoria. She already felt decayed, empty. All the money in the world and nothing to spend it on, nothing that would make her happy. Nothing worth loving about her. Nothing worth sticking around for. Her only source of happiness hated her, abandoned her and wasted an entire year of her life.

Her sadness was utterly exhausting. She collapsed in the folds of her dress, in her stinging skin and shaking bones that rebelled against the cold night air as it tried to freeze her solid, tried to streak her damp face with ice. She wished it would. She wished all the cold in the world would seep through her nerves until they were permanently numb, until she felt nothing but the numbness itself where once she held all her love- all for a stupid boy.

Astoria sank to her knees, thousands of dollars worth of silk ruined in a second as the dirt and mud clung tightly in wet clumps. She knew this field, an empty acre set aside somewhere in the barbed-wire maze of Hybrid Technologies. It was often used as a makeshift airstrip, for when her father didn't want anyone knowing what was being brought in. Only ever used at night, never mentioned out loud.

She wondered if she’d be lucky enough to get run over if she just lay down on the trampled grass, silent and unmoving as the corpse she wished she was. Behind her brimming, closed eyelids she thought she could see a hazy light, a bright spear of yellow-white trying to wrench her eyes open. Was she dying already? It was so hard to tell. Everything ached. Nothing made sense. If he didn't matter, why did she still love him? If she was so popular, why did no one notice she was breaking apart?

“Yo.” There was an echo rattling in her head, disinterested in her own delusion. “What's your problem?”

Where to even start? She couldn't answer herself, not with her throat so clogged with regrets. 

“Hey, I asked you a question! You just gonna keep lying there and making weird noises all night?”

Astoria was on her feet before her eyes cleared, broken heart pounding as she shivered blindly in the yellow spotlight. 

“Wh-Who said that? Who’s there?” She gulped, swallowing the rest of her pride as she searched for the nasally voice, like the whine of an idle engine demanding attention. 

The glare of the lights dimmed and angled away from her, revealing an ancient plane parked on the grass. That explained the engine whine, then.

“I’m the one who asked first, lady!” The pilot must have been speaking through some kind of tannoy to sound so loud, closing the plane’s spotlights like he was narrowing a pair of eyes.

Astoria matched the thin glare, fiercely rubbing her cheeks dry. “It’s n-n-none of your business.” Maybe if she was rude enough he’d he'd just drive over her and end all her problems in a moment.

“Well, you're in my way,” the pilot pointed out, “so you're kinda making it my business. Now you gonna tell me why you're out here all by yourself?”

He didn't sound like he cared, more like she was disturbing him by being so upset, but it was close enough to concern that Astoria couldn't keep her mouth shut. Maybe if she wasn't so easily played like that she wouldn't have had her heart broken.

“My… my boyfriend dumped me.” A sob ripped out, but she thought she could speak over it. “A week ago. A week before my _fucking_ birthday.” She had to choke out the last of the whisper, jagged shards of her cracked voice lodged like splinters in her throat. She was back on the ground in a puddle of soiled silk and tears while her companion lazily rolled his plane forwards.

“Boyfriend, huh? That's rough. Can't say I know the feeling.”

“Well, it sucks,” Astoria told him from behind her hands, knees curled close to her heaving chest. “It really fucking sucks.”

“He's obviously not worth your time. So why’re you crying over him?”

The urge to scream was like a flood of lava threatening to scorch her tongue if she let it out: if she knew the answer, she wouldn't be out here trying to get herself killed! She scraped her nails along her scalp, a futile attempt to stop her hair gluing to her face, and tried to push down her anger.

“...Because I thought he _was_ worth it. I thought… out of everyone on this planet, he’d be the last one to ever hurt me like this.” She'd tried to move on, tried so hard to forget about him; but he was the best thing that ever happened to her. That ever _would_ happen to her. How was she supposed to just let that go? What the hell was she supposed to do without him?

Other than sit in a muddy field at midnight unloading all her problems on an impatient stranger who just wants her out of the way, that is. 

“Serves me right, you know.” She curled up even tighter, knowing and hating that it was mostly her fault. “I was the one who thought it all meant something. I was the stupid one, thinking he was any different from everyone else who’s treated me like shit… and after all that, he still gets to walk away without even fucking caring.” Her sobs shook her spine roughly as she keeled over, burying her tears against her arms. The stifling dark against her eyes at least let her pretend that she was dead. The silence helped too, the illusion that her audience had quickly gotten bored of her, but it only lasted as long as it took the poor captive pilot to summon some lazy assurances.

“Hey… look, I'm sure it ain’t that bad.” There was a draft of mild air behind Astoria, the gust from the engine idling away as the pilot’s pinched voice rose above it. “You feel like slag just now, sure, but soon I bet you won’t even remember his name! And whatever happened, it's his loss, _his_ problem. Not yours.”

She'd heard the same spiel countless times before, all from people who just wanted her to stop making a scene. Or perhaps they just didn't know what else to say, when they never had to worry about being abandoned and thrown aside. Either way, she knew it was bullshit.

“You're just saying that because you want me to go away,” she huffed, turning her face aside to wipe it dry on her dress. The lights that dowsed her flickered, like a rapid blink of disbelief.

“Now hang on a klick, that's… not entirely true! You're out here obviously wanting some attention, and here I am giving you some. So don't throw it back in my face!”

Even though the snapping was exactly what she was aiming for, Astoria was seriously thinking of dragging him right out of his cockpit. If she had to constantly crash down, she'd happily drag everyone else down with her for once. 

But just cause she wouldn't be alone at rock bottom didn't mean she'd be happy there. The feeble fists on her knees quickly loosened, all faux and fanciful fire doused in an instant of crushing reality. She wasn't sure when it started raining, but her hair was doused in a limp and tangled mess by now. 

“I just don't know what to do now,” she confessed, reedy whispers on the engine’s wind. “He was my best friend. He was _perfect_. Everything was perfect… right up until he decided he was sick of me. And if it didn't work out with the perfect guy… what's the point of even trying with someone else? What's the point of trying at all?” 

She wished she kept her shoes. Her feet were numb, smothered in mud, unlikely to carry her home by sunrise but giving her no other choice. She pushed herself upright, trembling but refusing to fall again. If she did, she knew she wouldn't get back up.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you.” She didn't turn to face the pilot or his accusing headlights. “I'll just go home and cry there-”

“Hey, wait…” The headlights tried to cut her off, shifting sideways to mark the leagues of mud she'd be cursing and wading through before she even reached solid ground. “Look, you don't _have_ to leave. Don’t be dramatic. Anyway, it's dangerous to be out by yourself this late.” Once he was sure she wouldn't move any further, the lights shifted once again- to peer at the filthy hem of her dress and the bare feet underneath it. “And what the Pit happened to your shoes?!”

Astoria was still recovering from the pilot’s sudden show of compassion, or just guilt. “What are you saying? Do you... want to walk me home or something?” She wasn't sure if she'd accept or reject such an offer, not from someone as cold as him, a hard crust of ice over every word.

But maybe the rain was starting to melt it away.

“Well… I-I would if I could,” the pilot said. “But I can't exactly walk down the street.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes again, blinking away the water gumming under her lashes. “What do you mean?” 

“Well… it's a long story. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He shut the lights off, as if leaving her darkness would seriously make her forget he was even there. It only succeeded in making her angry again. She considered kicking the cockpit, but with her shoe situation being less than ideal she settled with stamping over and banging a fist against the side.

“Whatever it is, I want to know,” she demanded through a stubborn mist of rain. “Not like you’re doing any worse than me right now.” And if it really was a long story, it wasn't like she had anywhere to be. There was a rusty crunch and whirr of gears, as if the pilot was considering literally fleeing now that she wasn't in his flight path. But there was no sudden lift off, no hurried fistfuls of wind blowing her backwards. It was as if the frame was just shrugging for him.

“I really shouldn't be telling you, but…” A static-edged rattle passed off for a resigned sigh. Astoria was familiar with the sentiment.

“Well, you won't believe me anyway, so frag it. I'm an alien robot, in disguise as a plane. So there.”

He was still in position to flee, the plane- in fact his whole body sweating the rain off in sheets, knowing full well how stupid he sounded.

Most people in Astoria’s situation… well, most people _wouldn’t_ be in her situation anyway. But those unlucky lost few would have just blamed hypothermia or a delusional mind making up for a broken heart, heading to whatever home they still had to call it all a bad dream in the end. 

It wasn't the first time Astoria had heard about alien robots, though. She hadn’t quite believed her father when he warned her about them, even though he had no reason to lie. And, of course, he refused to let her see one of them for herself.

But he wasn't here now. And the realisation, a slow creeping ambush as she pieced together the vague mentions of _them_ , the military’s pet aliens, scattered over the years, made Astoria forget what she was even crying about in the first place.

“You're one of those…” She tried to remember what her father had named them, rubbing chipped fingers together before eventually finding it buried in a dusty memory. “Transformers?”

The so-called alien in his streaming metal shell pulled his wings up and down, wheels churning up the mud as if he was unsure why she was still here. “Uh, yeah… how the Pit do you know that?!”

He sounded so shocked, so scandalised that she wasn't more shocked than him, that Astoria could only laugh. It was the first time she'd managed it in days, a croak that bloomed into a cackle of hiccups. It lasted so long, more tears covering her eyes than before as if competing against the rain, that the alien probably thought she was crazy. That _all_ humans were crazy. He wouldn't be wrong.

“You're not as big a secret as you'd like to be.” The manic giggles eventually trailed off, but the warm ache lingered deep in her throat and deeper still in her chest. “My father works closely with the military. He mentioned seeing a bunch of robots disguised as cars hanging around.” 

The plane’s, robot’s, whatever, headlights switched on again to blink at her in a dull shimmer. And here she thought the ‘pilot’ just didn't want to leave his cosy cabin.

“Your dad? He's not that guy always snitching on us to Ironhide, is he?”

Astoria couldn't tell if his bitterness was serious or not, even though she'd spent so long wallowing in it. “Uh, no, he's… well, he’s a Carlton-Ritz. In charge of Hybrid Technologies.” 

‘ _And he'd have a heart attack if he knew where I was…_ ’

That was usually all she had to say about him before recognition clicked and everyone bent over backwards to apologise for needing to be told in the first place. The alien had no such social pretences to fall victim to, lucky bastard; but even if he was as human as she was, he doubted he would have cared if her father was a galactic emperor. 

“Oh! Yeah, I heard of him! He's a huge pain in the aft!”

Astoria was laughing again, head thrown back as her hair curled itself into a jungle of brunette vines, thin and sharp rain drops hitting her tongue. She’d finally found someone who wasn't scared of her father’s bullshit- and he was an alien robot she was hoping would run her over just five minutes ago. 

“Yeah, sounds just like him. He never mentioned there was a plane, though.” 

“And he never mentioned he had a daughter who kept leaking everywhere.” He turned his spotlights on her again in a yellow haze of suspicion. “Then again, I’m busy out on missions most of the time. Saving the world and stuff. No time for you squishy things.” 

A lesser person might have been insulted. Astoria just rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t need to brag about it if it was even true. “And you can turn into a robot?”

He seemed to be waiting for that, a chance to show off in front of the human. Now _she_ was the one in the audience. “Sure can. Stand back and watch!” 

Astoria paced backwards, just as the wheels beside her were pulled inside the warping, creaking panels as they rearranged themselves like fluid metal. The dark and the rain covered up most of the fleeting details, though even without the cover there was far too much going on to keep track of. It was like a flashbulb moment; one second he was a rusting wreck of a plane, the next he was a robot kneeling down yet still towering over her. He was made of the same metal, the same flaking paint she'd punched before, yet now it looked different. Smooth and light, barely smudged by the drizzle of rain, so sleek that the paint simply couldn't grip. 

Beyond the many mechanical parts of his body, still settling into place after his transformation, the wings separating and pressing down against his arms, the mask bolted over his face, Astoria hadn’t yet quite registered what he really was until now. He was literally alien, like nothing else the entire human race had seen before. 

And she'd thought about kicking him in what was now his groin. 

At least he had two eyes, or what looked enough like them. Not that it was easy looking into them. 

“You're… bigger than I thought.” She was sure if a plane was hauled up by its nosecone it would be the same height, but that was quite literally overshadowed by how easily he could crush her in his palm. 

The robot, far too alive to be a robot, raised an eyebrow as long as her arm. “You calling me fat?” The accusation echoed behind his masked mouth, assuming there was a mouth behind it, and what might have been menacing instead came out like an amateur burglar chewing on his balaclava. How did someone sound so nasally without having a nose? Since she'd already had two fits by now, Astoria managed to let out nothing more than a snicker.

“As if robots can even _get_ fat.”

Now two giant eyebrows were yanked down, furrowing what were definitely a pair of burning blue eyes. “Laugh all you want, but you obviously haven't seen the likes of Bulkhead! That guy could cause an earthquake just by falling on his aft!” He jabbed a silver finger through the thick mist starting to steam around him, the rain evaporating as soon as it hit his frame. Astoria couldn't feel the heat, only a crackle of static in the air. The sky was too clear for thunder or lightening, but something was making her hair stand on end. She guessed that something was the annoyed alien grunting in defeat as he pulled his plates back over his body.

“Anyway, I prefer my alt mode.” He assumed it in yet another blink-and-you-miss-it moment, and of course timing it just as Astoria blinked. “Least I can put my wings to use with it,” he added, wiggling his wings proudly even as paint crumbled and fell to speckle the grass red. Even if the paint job was pristine, his choice of disguise definitely wasn't modern. Astoria was sure she'd seen similar designs in World War II museums.

“I'm not an airplane expert, but aren’t you a bit... outdated?” she asked. The plane scoffed, or maybe it was just his engine coughing. Or maybe that _was_ how his kind scoffed.

“If it's old, that just means it's good enough to have lasted until now,” he insisted. “But if you're still skeptical… I'll give you a front row seat to being proven wrong.” There was a hiss, and the cockpit glass slowly pulled up to reveal the empty pilot’s seat. It took a moment for Astoria to realise he was inviting her in, and even longer for her to consider it.

“What's the matter?” he asked, flicking his wings again. “You gonna start crying again?”

She almost thought she was, but she still couldn't remember why. She wasn't eager to remember anyway. 

“It's just… I don't have a good track record with machines,” she confessed. “Can't even use a toaster without breaking it.” And if her metal companion suddenly short circuited, who'd be around to get her home? Would they need a mechanic or a doctor to fix him?

Unfortunately, what should have been a threat was more like a challenge to him. “Is that so? Well, if you break anything I'll just have your dad fix it. Say it was all your fault.”

That was usually how it worked anyway. Astoria slowly learned to tell when he was joking, but she wasn't about to go diving inside him (no matter how warm and waterproof the cockpit was). “How do I know you’re not already full of malfunctions and you’ll blame them all on me so you can get a free overhaul?”

It was his turn to laugh now, a sound even uglier than her own. If his voice was like a whining engine, his laugh was like cylinders smashing together. “Damn, I’m not _that_ much of a scrapheap, am I? I thought all the rust gave me a certain charm. Rust is all I get for sitting out in this kinda weather, after all.” His whole frame shook, up and down as if he was restless, letting loose a shower of old paint flecks. “It’s perfectly safe, you big baby. Now quit stalling and get in or I'll have to fly all by myself.”

Astoria was torn between the temptation of rebellion and that of proving him wrong (it was perfectly reasonable to not want to fly with an extraterrestrial stranger!). But there was no real point to staying on the ground, on the damp Earth already coating her feet. She tried to wash it off before climbing into the cockpit, tearing strips off her dress to scrub the dirt away. She could just buy another one, after all. 

“I thought I'd already hit rock bottom, but here I am arguing with an alien robot… hitching a ride with an alien robot. On my birthday. Jesus.” Yet it was still better than the party she fled. 

The pilot’s seat was cold, but it quickly warmed as the cockpit came down to seal her in. His frame might have been ancient, but the control console was a riot of high-tech colour and readouts, most of them in a language she couldn't understand. The rain pattered steadily against the glass, the most calming sound in the world. That alone was worth being here for.

“Buckle up,” her transport advised, reminding her exactly what she’d just gotten herself into, _who_ she’d gotten herself into. “I won't go so high you'll need oxygen, but it'll be bumpy. But if you pass out at least you won't be screaming.”

It was another joke, but with the growing roar of the engine and the click of thick restraints around her, Astoria couldn't laugh. She'd been flying before- in jets, first class, never without enough leg room to fit at least three of her. Here all she could feel were cold metal pedals under her feet, yet more controls she didn't dare touch. She tried curling her legs up again, but the restraints just pressed against her chest. The rain still thudded. 

And he was about to take off, whether she was ready or not.

“I never got your name.” Astoria had to shout over the engine, before her stomach completely dropped. If she was going to literally crash, she wanted to know who’s fault it would be. “Do… Transformers _have_ names?”

There was a click from somewhere that felt like miles away, as a speaker in front of her hissed “You first.” He sounded slightly less insufferable for some reason, maybe because she'd gotten used to the whine.

“Astoria.” She gulped, already hyperventilating as everything else evaporated to make way for fear. He found either her premature flinching or just her name funny, or maybe he just _really_ liked take offs.

“Well, Miss Astoria, I’m called Powerglide. And you're about to find out why!” 

They were already off the ground, headlong into the gentle storm. Considering everything she’d gone through, Astoria wasn’t surprised that she didn't mind the rain. She didn't mind being dirt-streaked and filthy as a hermit. She didn't even mind her smart-mouthed, smart-aft companion, coercing her into throwing her life out to the clouds.

As long as she didn't have to think about the other him, she didn't mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if this will continue beyond a oneshot. I don’t even know if I want to keep writing.  
> All I can think of is trying to live the rest of my life without him, and it just makes me upset. The future is uncertain for me, that's all I can say.


End file.
